Heaven Sent to Me
by Black Tangled Heart
Summary: 'She brings the cold and scars my soul; she's heaven sent to me.' First loves never die.


Heaven Sent to Me

© 2003 Black Tangled Heart 

Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to the God that is Baz Luhrmann.   
Song Used: "Love Burns" by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.   
Dedication: To Petal because she is the beautiful demon on my shoulder; to Pearl because her new Moulin Rouge work has inspired me to continue with mine, and most importantly to Mao and Yvi, the goddesses of this lovely pairing. 

--

_She cuts my skin and bruise my lips  
She's everything to me  
She tears my clothes and burns my eyes  
She's all I want to see  
She brings the cold and scars my soul  
She's heaven sent to me_

  
  
  
It wasn't until you spoke to the Duke that I knew it was over. 

I'd always known your eyes to fill with warmth only for me to see, but when you caught my gaze before sauntering away, I saw the same ice that Christian and Marie have come to accept when you enter a room. I knew I would never again trace my fingers down the smooth slope of your back, or hear my name escape your mouth as euphoric stars filled your vision with light. You said I looked almost unearthly in those moments, and you'd always scrunch my curls between your fingers to remind yourself that I too have a heartbeat, and have not yet earned wings. 

Sometimes I wish I'd never sought comfort in you when my face was swollen with too many tears. I'd get a lecture from Harold in such times, but you were always the safety that I could immerse myself in when fear coiled around my heart. You were the only love I knew; it's why I kept coming back, even after moonlit nights with Christian and his spontaneous silly songs.

You were never the jealous type, but your kisses lost their comforting intensity once you knew of Christian, and how, despite my best effort, I found solace in him. I tried to tell you a thousand times that I felt no love for him, only understanding.

It was his writing that formed compassion between us; for he said many times that I was the inspiration behind the flow of his words. The show will be wonderful, and I am glad to have helped him, though when he tells me he loves me, I have never once returned the sentiment. 

I thought then I never would. 

I couldn't tell him I loved you. When my thighs cradled him and he left the gentlest of kisses on my throat, I longed to let your name tear free of my mouth, to feel your fingers and lips within every place the men never satisfied. 

The slightest touch of your hand always dissipated my numbness. I could be raw with you. No fucking façade to smear onto my body every night, to transform at the whim of a client. You never wanted me to change. You loved me because all the impurities siphoned off the moment the bedroom door was locked and you muffled my cries of your name with the vicious kiss I hunger for during sleepless nights. 

Christian's gift with words is extraordinary, but you and I never needed speech to convey what we felt for one another. Sometimes I'd lie with my cheek against your neck and listen to your heartbeat. I'd know in those moments what love was, and that I was willing to risk everything to stay inside your arms. You cried sometimes, only with me, and I'd taste the salt of your tears and feel shattered hope repair itself. Those pearls were full of life that I knew existed inside you. When my tears mingled with yours, we fell asleep by the fire, bare but untouched by passion. Only silence. 

Once when you were sleeping, I awoke and stared at the ripple of my hair across your shoulder, and how my crimson touched your black. The contrast stood out so clearly when you silently broke the bond between us. You were my midnight; you blotted out every honey-slick smile and each word uttered in a tone that never really belonged to me. When you sat down with Arabia, you ripped my beating heart from my chest, kissed it with an icy tongue and flung it back inside of me. 

I have never felt so cold. 

Jealousy is the real force that will tear apart the Underworld, not love. The Duke changed entirely that night, and the only reason I wanted to feel my heart beating was so I could feel you against me again. You were entwined with the tango dancer, with the hands that had caressed me grasping onto others'; the piercing blue of your eyes luring him in, just as they had always done to me. We were both left with remnants of love, twisting them into pliable pieces to grip, something to hold onto, so the abyss of emptiness wouldn't open its gaping mouth and swallow us whole. It was then that I embraced my compassion for Christian, and the words of love on my tongue felt somehow foreign, as did the tears because I'd only ever cried with you. 

You are no longer my escape, but in sleeplessness I will dream of your kiss, no matter where I travel or the challenges I face, your name and body will always be home to me. 

My seraph of the Underworld is you. 

-- 


End file.
